Tag Archives: biodiversity

North America’s Big Five Centipedes

When Halloween comes around, snakes and spiders tend to steal the show. Yet centipedes, in my experience, tend to evoke even stronger reactions from people — I have met many entomologists who would happily handle a tarantula but recoil in horror when faced with a giant centipede.

In the United States there are five species of giant centipedes in the family Scolopendridae. Today, in the spirit of Halloween, I give you the Big Five: where they are found, what they do, and why I love them.

Blue Tree Centipede (Hemiscolopendra marginata)

The blue tree centipede. Photo by Sharon Moorman.

The blue tree centipede. Photo by Sharon Moorman.

This is the smallest of the five, seldom exceeding 3 inches, but still the largest centipede throughout most of its range. It is found through much of the East, from Ohio and Pennsylvania south to Florida and west to eastern Texas. Tree centipedes are also found in Mexico south to the Yucatan Peninsula. As the name suggests, the tree centipede is often an attractive blue-green, with yellow legs and orange fangs. The brightness of the color depends on the location, however, and some are paler than others.

The blue tree centipede is a habitat specialist, living under the bark of rotting trees, often before they have toppled to the ground. I have had the best luck finding them under the bark of pine logs. Because they are such good climbers, they occasionally wind up in buildings where they can cause quite a scare.

Bites from tree centipedes are painful but not much worse than a bee sting. They use their venom, as all centipedes do, to kill prey. Because they prefer to live in rotten pine logs, they may specialize in hunting beetle grubs that eat rotting wood. Like most centipedes, however, data on their feeding habits is severely lacking.

Green-striped Centipede (Scolopendra viridis)

The green-striped centipede is larger, reaching 6 inches or so, and usually pale yellow with a thick green or black stripe running down the back. Other patterns exist, however, and in parts of their range this species can appear more like a tree centipede or a tiger centipede (#4). These are adaptable centipedes, found from Florida west to Arizona, but don’t seem to venture further north than South Carolina.

The green-striped centipede. Photo by Jeff Hollenbeck, licensed under CC BY-ND-NC 1.0.

The green-striped centipede. Photo by Jeff Hollenbeck, licensed under CC BY-ND-NC 1.0.

Green-striped centipedes can live in a variety of habitats but they seem to prefer sandy forests. In Florida they can be found in scrub habitat, but like all centipedes they are not well-adapted to drought, and must stay moist by hiding underground or in rotting logs during the day.

Caribbean Giant Centipede (Scolopendra alternans)

The Caribbean giant is the only one of the Five with the russet-brown, mono-chromatic appearance of a “typical” centipede. It is probably our largest species, with a length easily exceeding 8 inches. However, the Caribbean giant is, as you might have guessed, a tropical centipede, and in the U.S. it lives only in southern Florida. It requires humid habitats, and the best place to find them is in and around the Everglades, in Dade and Monroe Counties.

A certain foreign species, the Vietnamese giant (Scolopendra subspinipes), is easily confused with the Caribbean giant at first glance. That wouldn’t be a concern, except that the Vietnamese giant has already become invasive in Hawaii and — this is just my speculating — is likely to become established in the Everglades at some point in the future. Because it is so large, often exceeding 10 inches, the Vietnamese giant is sometimes sold in the pet trade. Bites from either species are not deadly, but extremely painful.

Tiger Centipede (Scolopendra polymorpha)

A tiger centipede from Arizona. Photo by Sue Carnahan, licensed under CC BY-ND-NC 1.0.

A tiger centipede from Arizona. Photo by Sue Carnahan, licensed under CC BY-ND-NC 1.0.

Like the green-striped centipede, the tiger is a 6-inch-long animal found in a variety of habitats. Unlike the green-striped, this is a strictly western species, found from Idaho south through California into Mexico, and east all the way to Missouri. Its name comes from its color pattern: each segment is orange or yellow with a narrow, dark band.

Giant centipedes often move faster by undulating in a snake-like fashion, taking advantage of their long and muscular bodies. When a tiger centipede does this, the bands appear to “flicker,” rather like the brightly-banded milk snake and coral snake. This can make the centipede more difficult to track visually, and hence more difficult for a bird or mouse to grab.

Tiger centipedes, like their namesake, are voracious predators. They have been seen taking down prey much larger than themselves, including geckos and praying mantises. In turn, tiger centipedes are prey for scorpions, spiders, snakes, and many other predators.

A tiger centipede, fallen prey to a scorpion. Photo by Jasper Nance, licensed under CC BY-NC-ND 2.0.

A tiger centipede, fallen prey to a scorpion. Photo by Jasper Nance, licensed under CC BY-NC-ND 2.0.

Centipedes are adapted to moving fast, and their exoskeletons are thin and flexible. The drawback is that they dehydrate very easily. Although tiger centipedes are found in deserts, they still have to remain underground most of the time to conserve moisture.

Giant Desert Centipede (Scolopendra heros)

If you’ve ever seen centipedes used in a horror movie, they were probably heros*. They are big, reaching 8 inches or more. They are also brightly colored in black and orange — perfect for Halloween!

The Arizona form of the giant desert centipede. Photo by Aaron Goodwin, licensed under CC BY-ND-NC 1.0.

The Arizona form of the giant desert centipede. Photo by Aaron Goodwin, licensed under CC BY-ND-NC 1.0.

Heros are found in the desert Southwest, and color patterns vary by location. In eastern Texas and Oklahoma, they are typically jet-black with a bright orange head and yellow legs. In Arizona (above) they are usually red, with the first and last segments black. In New Mexico and western Texas the pattern is orange with black bands, much like a tiger centipede.

A giant desert centipede. Photo from NMNH Insect Zoo, licensed under CC BY-NC 2.0.

A giant desert centipede. Photo from NMNH Insect Zoo, licensed under CC BY-NC 2.0.

Why have black on just the head and the last segment? This an example of automimicry, in which one part of an animal’s body mimics the other. In this case, the tail-end of the giant desert centipede mimics its head-end. When faced with a giant centipede, predators usually attack the head, hoping to avoid a painful bite. If a predator gets confused, however, and attacks the tail instead, an unpleasant surprise awaits when the true head whips around to greet its attacker.

Centipedes, giant and otherwise, are pretty scary, and I never begrudge people who are afraid of them. Still, centipedes are amazing animals and if you see one, I encourage you to take a closer look. It will teach you, if nothing else, that just because an animal is frightening does not mean it can’t be beautiful.

*There is a centipede in one of the Human Centipede movies. People often tell me this after I tell them I study centipedes, so let me clarify a few things: I don’t know what kind of centipede the bad guy has for a pet. Not because I couldn’t identify it, but because I have never watched those movies and never will. I also don’t want to hear you describe your favorite scene with as many details as possible. Thank you.

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The Scaly Crickets

by Joseph DeSisto

Among many new species named today, some of the most unusual were three new crickets from Southeast Asia (Tan et al. 2015). These crickets belong to the obscure and poorly-known family Mogoplistidae, cousins to the more recognizable (and audible) field crickets (Gryllidae). They look like field crickets too, except that their bodies are covered in scales.

A scaly cricket (Arachnocephalus vestitus). © Entomart.

A scaly cricket (Arachnocephalus vestitus). © Entomart.

When you touch a butterfly’s wings, you might notice a fine, powdery substance rubbing off on your fingers. The powder is made up of microscopic scales, which cover the wings of butterflies and moths. Scales give the wings their color, but they also provide insulation and protect the wings during flight. Perhaps most importantly, scales can fall off and make the wings slippery. This allows butterflies and moths to evade a careless hand as easily as a wet bar of soap.

The scientific name for butterflies and moths is Lepidoptera, which translates to “scaly wing” — scales are one of the most important features defining the group. However, many other groups of insects also have scales. Mosquitoes and silverfish have them, and so do scaly crickets.

The scales of a scaly cricket (Ornebius formosanus). Figure from Yang and Yen (2001), licensed under CC BY 2.0.

The scales of a scaly cricket (Ornebius formosanus). Figure from Yang and Yen (2001), licensed under CC BY 2.0.

Cricket scales, like those of butterflies and mosquitoes, are microscopic, powder-like, and easily shed. To really appreciate their beauty, a scanning electron microscope is needed. The first look came in 2001, when Yang and Yen published the first high-resolution images of cricket scales.

Aside from being scaly, scaly crickets aren’t all that unusual. They are adaptable, able to eat decaying plants as well as other insects, and they tend to live in moist sandy habitats. No scaly crickets are capable of flight, and females lack wings entirely, but the males do have small wings which they rub together to make chirping sounds (Love and Walker 1979). Click on the audio file below to listen to an amorous male scaly cricket (recorded by Thomas J. Walker).

Of the three new species, two were found in the Sakaerat Biosphere Reserve, in Thailand. This reserve consists mainly of high-altitude dry forest, with a few grasslands, and is home to many endangered species including tigers and giant black squirrels.

The third cricket is native to Pulau Ubin, an island off the coast of Singapore. Pulau Ubin is one of the last remaining wild areas in the already tiny country. Singapore’s government has been eager to develop portions of the island, but in recent years tourism has become more profitable. Fear of losing foreign visitors has encouraged officials to protect, rather than level, valuable habitat. For now, the status of the new scaly crickets appears secure, but in rapidly urbanizing Southeast Asia, nothing is certain.

A scaly cricket (Mogoplistes brunneus). © Entomart.

A scaly cricket (Mogoplistes brunneus). © Entomart.

Cited:

Love R.E. and T.J. Walker. 1979. Systematics and acoustic behavior of scaly crickets (Orthoptera: Gryllidae: Mogoplistinae) of eastern United States. Transactions of the American Entomological Society 105:

Tan M.K., P. Dawwrueng, and T. Artchawakom. 2015. Contribution to the taxonomy of scaly crickets (Orthoptera: Mogoplistidae: Mogoplistinae). Zootaxa 4032(4): 381-394.

Yang J. and F. Yen. 2001. Morphology and character evaluation of scales in scaly crickets (Orthoptera: Grylloidea: Mogoplistidae). Zoological Studies 40(3): 247-253.

Two New Species of Ant-Decapitating Fly

by Joseph DeSisto

An ant-decapitating fly. Photo by Scott Bauer, in public domain.

An ant-decapitating fly. Photo by Scott Bauer, in public domain.

Today saw the description of two new species of South American flies, both fire ant parasites that decapitate their victims. The two new species were discovered in Brazil and Argentina, associated with fire ant mounds in their native territory (Plowes et al. 2015).

Ant-decapitating flies, as might be expected, have unusual and macabre life histories. The adults are tiny, just a few millimeters in length, with the general appearance of fruit flies. Instead of hovering around rotten bananas, however, female ant-decapitating flies hang around ant mounds. When the time is right, a fly soars down to meet her victim, using a hooked, needle-like ovipositor to inject an egg into the ant’s head (Porter 1998).

With egg laid, her work is done. The fly departs, ant still intact and seemingly healthy.

A fly attacking a fire ant, hoping to lay its egg on the ant's head. Photo by Sanford Porter, in public domain.

A fly attacking a fire ant, hoping to lay its egg on the ant’s head. Photo by Sanford Porter, in public domain.

Not all is well, however. From the fly’s egg emerges a maggot that, as it grows, eats away at the inside of the ant’s head. At the same time, the maggot secretes chemicals that cause the ant to go mad, fleeing its colony and finding shelter in moist leaf litter. With its host almost spent, the maggot severs the ant’s head, and forms a cocoon or pupa inside the now-hollow shell. Some weeks later, a new fly emerges and takes off in search of a new ant for her offspring.

This all sounds very sinister, but it also could be very useful to humans. As it happens, many of these flies specialize in decapitating fire ants and, in enough numbers, can seriously impact fire ant colonies. Now that invasive fire ants are well-established in the southern U.S., the Department of Agriculture is looking to ant-decapitating flies to control the ants’ march north.

The remains of a fly's victim. Photo by Sanford Porter, in public domain.

The remains of a fly’s victim. Photo by Sanford Porter, in public domain.

Whether the two new species of ant-decapitating fly will be useful in controlling fire ants remains to be seen. Multiple fly species have already been introduced in states like Texas (Gilbert and Patrock 2002) and Alabama (Porter et al. 2011), where fire ants are a serious problem for agriculture and human health. In these states the flies have become established and already have a tangible impact on fire ant populations.

However, not all species fare equally well. In order to be useful in controlling fire ants, the flies must be able to adapt to the southern U.S. climate, as well as all the new predators they may not have faced in South America.

Plowes and colleagues (2015) suggest that many more unknown species of ant-decapitators live in remote regions of South America. Discovering new species may help scientists figure out which flies will be most successful at colonizing the U.S., and which species will have the biggest impact on fire ant populations.

Cited:

Gilbert L.E. and R.J.W. Patrock. 2002. Phorid flies for the biological suppression of imported fire ant in Texas: region specific challenges, recent advances and future prospects. Southwestern Entomologist Supplement 25: 7-17.

Plowes R.M., P.J. Folgarait, and L.E. Gilbert. 2015. Pseudacteon notocaudatus and Pseudacteon obtusitus (Diptera: Phoridae), two new species of fire ant parasitoids from South America. Zootaxa 4032(2): 215-220.

Porter S.D., L.F. Graham, S.J. Johnson, L.G. Thead, and J.A. Briano. 2011. The large decapitating fly Pseudacteon litoralis (Diptera: Phoridae): successfully established on fire ant populations in Alabama. Florida Entomologist 94(2): 208-213.

Porter S. D. 1998. Biology and behavior of Pseudacteon decapitating flies (Diptera: Phoridae) that parasitize Solenopsis fire ants (Hymenoptera: Formicidae). Florida Entomologist 81(3): 292-309.

Why Scorpion Venom is So Complex

by Joseph DeSisto

Scorpion venom, like many animal venoms, is incredible complex. It is made up of hundreds of different toxins and other proteins, each with a specific function, all mixed together in a lethal cocktail. Why do scorpions need so many different toxins? Last week, scientists at the Chinese Academy of Sciences published the results of their attempt to answer this question (Zhang et al. 2015).

They began by studying a particular class of proteins found in scorpion venom, which work by attacking the sodium ion-channel proteins in their victims.

The stripe-tailed scorpion, Vaejovis spinigerus, ready for action.. Photo by Joseph DeSisto.

The stripe-tailed scorpion, Vaejovis spinigerus, ready for action. Photo by Joseph DeSisto.

Sodium ion-channels help regulate the amount of sodium inside animal cells, which is vital for cells to function properly. In nerve cells, they are even more important: the change in sodium concentration inside and outside the cell is what transmits electric signals.

Toxins that inhibit sodium channels prevent the nervous system from working, which leads to death if the victim is small (like an insect). Scorpions have toxins called sodium-channel toxins to do exactly that. The puzzle is, scorpions have many different genes that produce sodium-channel toxins, each of which has a slightly different structure.

All proteins are essentially strings that are wound, twisted, and tied into a specific structure. The structure of a protein is critical to its function, since proteins need to have certain shapes in order to interact with each other like a lock and key. All sodium-channel toxins have a portion designated as the “interactive region” — the key — which attaches to a series of loops on the prey’s sodium ion-channel (the lock). If the key fits and the connection is successful, the prey’s ion-channel can no longer function.

A mother stripe-tailed scorpion, carrying young. Photo by Joseph DeSisto.

A mother stripe-tailed scorpion, carrying young. Photo by Joseph DeSisto.

Zhang and his colleagues studied the genome of their scorpion, a desert-dwelling East Asian species known as the Chinese golden scorpion (Mesobuthus martensii). They found no less than 29 different genes coding for sodium channel toxins.

There was a time, perhaps hundreds of millions of years ago, when scorpions only had one gene for sodium-channel toxins. Eventually that gene was duplicated, and thereafter the scorpion genome had multiple copies of the same toxin-producing gene. Since then, each copy of the gene has continued to mutate and evolve in its own direction. Now each toxin, despite having the same basic structure, is just a little bit different from the rest.

As it happens, the genes for sodium ion-channels in a scorpion’s prey also exist in multiple copies, each with minor variations. Zhang and colleagues hypothesized that scorpions need so many varieties of toxins because each toxin can only interact with a specific variety of ion-channel. In other words, scorpion venom needs lots of different keys because the prey have so many different locks.

To test this, the scientists examined the different toxin-gene copies to better understand how they had evolved. Sure enough, the “interactive region,” the key, of each toxin had mutated and evolved much more quickly than the “body” of the toxin. This provided strong evidence that natural selection has caused scorpion venom to evolve different types of toxins to keep up with the ever-evolving ion-channels in their prey.

Scorpions are incredible animals for so many reasons. They have been around for more than 400 million years — as long as there have been insects to hunt on land, scorpions have been there to hunt them. They are amazing and diverse in form, lifestyle, and hunting strategy. How fitting that they should be just as amazing on the molecular level.

Cited:

Zhang S., B. Gao, and S. Zhu. Target-driven evolution of scorpion toxins. Nature Scientific Reports 5:14973 doi: 10.1038/srep14973

The Bucktoothed Slopefish

by Joseph DeSisto

We all love tales of rare sharks and squid, hauled up from the depths in nets and traps. Just a few days ago, an extremely rare deep-sea shark (the false catshark) was found off the coast of Scotland. Yet it is important to remember that the ocean is a big place and, in a paradoxical sort of way, it’s quite common for fish to be rare.

Enter the slopefishes, a handsome if under-appreciated family of marine fishes. All of the family’s 12 species live in rocky reefs at moderate depths. Most are rare, some extremely so. One species is known only from two specimens which were removed from the stomach of a coelacanth (a much larger fish) near the Comoros Islands. The slopefish were partially digested, so even though they represent new species, scientists have been unable to formally describe and name them (Anderson and Springer 2005). After 36 years, those two fish remain the only known representatives of their kind.

The bucktoothed slopefish. Photo by M.V. Chesalin, licensed under CC BY 3.0.

The bucktoothed slopefish. Photo by M.V. Chesalin, licensed under CC BY 3.0.

The bucktoothed slopefish’s tale might have ended similarly. Scientists named the species in 1974 based on only one specimen, found near the Gulf of Aden between Yemen and Somalia. Later efforts to capture more were fruitless. Finally, earlier this year, a bucktoothed slopefish made its way into a deep-sea fish trap off the coast of Oman (Anderson et al. 2015).

Now that a new specimen is available, we can appreciate the species for what it is: a thing of beauty, scarlet red and stream-lined, with rigid spines along the back. This discovery serves to remind us that the best finds in nature come not merely from knowledge, or even luck, but from days, weeks, or even decades of patience, persistence, and hard work.

Cited:

Anderson Jr. W.D. and V.G. Springer. 2005. Review of the perciform fish genus Symphysanodon Bleeker (Symphysanodontidae), with descriptions of three new species, S. mona, S. parini, and S. rhax. Zootaxa 996: 1-44.

Anderson Jr. W.D., M.V. Chesalin, L.A. Jawad, and S.R. Al Shajibi. 2015. Redescription of the percoid fish Symphysanodon andersoni Kotthaus (Symphysanodontidae) from the northwestern Indian Ocean, based on the holotype and the second known specimen. Zootaxa 4021(3): 475-481.

Shrimp-like Amphipods found in Sea Anemones

by Joseph DeSisto

Amphipods are crustaceans, similar to tiny shrimp. There are around 10,000 known species, with more being discovered each year. Most amphipods are marine and live as scavengers or predators, swimming or scuttling after tiny particles of food or plankton. A few are predatory, and use mantis-like front legs to snap up smaller creatures.

Stenothoe marina, related to the newly described amphipods. Photo by Hans Hillewaert, licensed under CC BY-SA 4.0.

Stenothoe marina, related to the newly described amphipods. Photo by Hans Hillewaert, licensed under CC BY-SA 4.0.

Last week’s new species are even more bizarre: they are “associates” living on the bodies of larger animals, ranging from sea anemones to mussels to hermit crabs (Krapp-Schickel and Vader 2015). So what exactly are they doing there?

Anemone-dwelling amphipods spend their time clambering over the tentacles of their host. Sea anemone tentacles are covered in microscopic stingers, to which the amphipods (like clown fish) are immune. Being surrounded by venomous tentacles might protect the amphipods from larger predators.

In turn, amphipods probably scavenge bits of detritus, such as uneaten prey, off the body of the anemone. One amphipod, however, does things a little differently. Instead of scavenging, it lives as a parasite, feeding on the flesh of its sea anemone host (Moore et al. 1994). Regardless, all of these amphipods have grasping, hook-like front legs called gnathopods (silent G), which they use to climb over and within the bodies of other animals.

Sea anemones. Photo by Francois Guillon, licensed under CC BY-SA 4.0.

Sea anemones. Photo by Francois Guillon, licensed under CC BY-SA 4.0.

Mussel-associated amphipods are more peaceful, but not entirely welcome, guests. Mussels are filter-feeders that extract plankton from the water, so instead of eating the mussel, amphipods steal some of the daily plankton catch (Tandberg et al. 2010). They are kleptoparasites, animals that steal their food.

Mussel-dwellers belong to the genus Metopa, and have surprisingly sophisticated lives (Tandberg et al. 2010). Each mussel is home to a single mating pair of adult amphipods, who defend their home against intruders. Most species spend their entire adult lives within the shell of a single mussel. In this time they work hard to raise multiple generations, which grow together until they are ready to head out to sea and find molluscan homes of their own.

A common hermit crab, host to a unique amphipod. Photo © Biopix: N Sloth, licensed under CC BY-NC 3.0.

A common hermit crab, host to a unique amphipod. Photo © Biopix: N Sloth, licensed under CC BY-NC 3.0.

Still other amphipods are described as hermit crab associates, some living on the crab’s acquired snail shell (Krapp-Schickel and Vader 2015). At least one species eats invertebrates that land and begin to grow on the shell. Others, however, live on the bodies of the crabs themselves.

This seems like a risky move. Hermit crabs are rigorous self-cleaners, constantly scrubbing the insides of their shells with specialized, brush-like hind legs. Perhaps the amphipods, by scavenging bits of uneaten food from the crab’s body, are helpful maids to their type-A hosts. If this is the case, hermit crabs may spare their amphipod companions on purpose. We still don’t know if the crab-dwelling amphipods are helpful cleaners or true parasites — if the latter is true, they must be well-adapted to avoid detection by their hosts.

Cited:

Krapp-Schickel T. and W.J.M. Vader. 2015. Stenothoids living with or on other animals (Crustacea, Amphipoda). Zoosystematics and Evolution 91(2): 215-246.

Moore P.G., P.S. Rainbow, and W. Vader. 1994. On the feeding and comparative biology of iron in coelenterate-associated gammaridean Amphipoda (Crustacea) from N. Norway. Journal of Experimental Marine Biology and Ecology 178: 205-231.

Tandberg A.H.S., C. Schandler, and F. Pleijel. 2010. First record of the association between the amphipod Metopa alderi and the bivalve Musculus. Marine Biodiversity Records 3, e. 5, 2 pp.

Sea Spiders and the Rise of the Chelicerates

by Joseph DeSisto

Sea spiders are small, eight-legged marine arthropods with a vaguely spider-like appearance: members of the obscure class Pycnogonida. Most of the 1300 or so species are predatory, feeding on jellyfish, sponges, and other soft-bodied marine invertebrates. After eight-leggedness and predatory habits, the similarities with spiders end.

A yellow-kneed sea spider. Photo by Sylke Rohrlach, licensed under CC BY-SA 2.0.

A yellow-kneed sea spider. Photo by Sylke Rohrlach, licensed under CC BY-SA 2.0.

So what exactly are sea spiders? For a long time they were considered to be the most ancient members of an already-ancient group of animals: the Chelicerata, which includes the arachnids and the horseshoe crabs (Dunlop and Arango 2005). These animals are united by their possession of chelicerae, a kind of mouthpart.

Chelicerae are extremely versatile, and in the 450-odd million years they’ve been around, natural selection has resulted in a huge diversity of forms. A spider’s chelicerae, for example, are hollow and capable of injecting venom into prey. Scorpion chelicerae, on the other hand, are smaller and used for chewing up food. Some harvestmen (daddy-long-legs) have long chelicerae with pincers at the end, useful for grabbing prey.

Sea spiders have chelicerae too — sort of. Their mouthparts at least are similar to chelicerae, but because they’ve been subject to hundreds of millions of years of evolution, it isn’t easy to discern their “true” identity. Modern sea spiders have hollow, tube-like chelicerae, which they use to suck out the insides of their prey.

 licensed under CC BY-SA 4.0.

A sea spider using its chelicerae to prey on a hydroid. Photo by Bernard Picton, licensed under CC BY-SA 4.0.

Classification can get complicated. To understand where sea spiders fit into the tree of life, we must ask the question: are sea spider chelicerae “real” chelicerae? That might sound like a silly question — after all, “chelicerae” is just a term we made up. But what we really mean is, are sea spider chelicerae homologous with the chelicerae of arachnids and horseshoe crabs? If they are, then sea spiders and the other chelicerates inherited their mouthparts from the same common ancestor. If not, chelicerae evolved twice: once in sea spiders, and separately in the “true” Chelicerata.

In 2005, Amy Maxmen and colleagues carefully studied the chelicerae of sea spiders and found that they emerged from a different part of the body than in other arthropods. It seemed that in sea spiders, chelicerae emerged from the same segment that contained the eyes (but not mouthparts) in other chelicerates. This suggested that sea spiders were not true chelicerates, but instead formed their own group, which Maxmen et al. (2005) hypothesized to be the oldest living arthropod lineage.

A sea spider -- the red hanging structure contains the mouthparts. Photo by Scott C. France, licensed under CC BY-SA 2.0.

A sea spider — the red hanging structure contains the mouthparts. Photo by Scott C. France, licensed under CC BY-SA 2.0.

In arthropods and other segmented animals, Hox genes are responsible for making sure that all the right body parts develop on all the right segments. It was surprising, then, when a 2006 study found that the Hox genes place chelicerae on the same segments in sea spiders and in arachnids (Jager et al. 2006). Apparently, this segment was shifted backwards in sea spiders, creating confusion.

Over the years, scientists have tried comparing the DNA of many arthropods to try and understand how they are related to one another. One of the most comprehensive studies (Regier et al. 2010) placed sea spiders comfortably within the Chelicerata, as the group’s oldest (i.e., basal-most) lineage. Since then there has been little debate: sea spiders may be some of the oldest arthropods on earth, but they really are chelicerates, after all (Giribet and Edgecombe 2012). That is, until new evidence comes along to shake things up again.

Cited:

Dunlop J.A. and C.P. Arango. 2005. Pyncogonid affinities: a review. Journal of Zoological Systematics and Evolutionary Research 43(1): 8-21.

Giribet G. and G.D. Edgecombe. 2012. Reevaluating the arthropod tree of life. Annual Review of Entomology 57: 167-186.

Jager M., J. Murienne, C. Clabaut, J. Deutsch, H. Le Guyader, and M. Manuel. 2006. Homology of arthropod anterior appendages revealed by Hox gene expression in a sea spider. Nature 441: 506-508.

Maxmen A., W.E. Browne, M.Q. Martindale, and G. Giribet. Neuroanatomy of sea spiders implies an appendicular origin of the protocerebral segment. Nature 437: 1144-1148.

Regier J.C., J.W. Schultz, A. Zwick, A. Hussey, B. Ball, R. Wetzer, J.W. Martin, and C.W. Cunningham. 2010. Arthropod relationships revealed by phylogenomic analysis of nuclear protein-coding sequences. Nature 463: 1079-1083.

Poisonous Frogs, Beetles, and Birds

by Joseph DeSisto

Meet the golden poison frog of Colombia’s coastal rain forests. This frog, one of nearly 200 species of poison frogs, is by far the most toxic. A single frog packs enough poison to kill 10,000 mice, or 10 or more humans (Myers et al. 1978).

The golden poison frog (Phyllobates terribilis). Photo by Brian Gratwicke, licensed under CC BY 2.0.

The golden poison frog (Phyllobates terribilis). Photo by Brian Gratwicke, licensed under CC BY 2.0.

For the golden poison frog and its close relatives in the genus Phyllobates, batrachotoxin is the weapon of choice. Batrachotoxin acts on the nervous system, opening up the membranes of nerve cells so they can no longer carry signals to and from the brain. Death comes from paralysis, which leads to heart failure.

The golden poison frog was only discovered in 1971 when scientists found them around an indigenous Colombian (Emberá Chocó) village (Myers et al. 1978). The Emberá use the frogs to lace poison darts, with which they hunt game in the surrounding forest. The frog-handlers were careful to cover their hands with leaves, with good reason. Scientists who touched the frog felt a strong burning sensation, and they stressed in their initial description that:

The new species is potentially dangerous to handle: One freshly caught frog may contain up to 1900 micrograms (µg) of toxins, only a fraction of which would be lethal to man if enough skin secretion came into contact with an open wound.”(Myers et al. 1978, pp. 311)

The black-legged poison frog (Phyllobates bicolor), closely related to terribilis but not quite as toxic. Photo by Drriss and Marrionn, licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 2.0.

The black-legged poison frog (Phyllobates bicolor), closely related to terribilis but not quite as toxic. Photo by Drriss and Marrionn, licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 2.0.

It is important, as the frog’s discoverers remind us, “to be cautionary, not alarmist” (Myers et al. 1978, pp. 340). Even though in theory these frogs are dangerous, there is no record of a person ever being killed by one. Although the poison can go through a person’s skin, it seldom does so in enough quantity to injure. The frogs do not bite. So if you see golden poison frogs while exploring in Colombia, do not panic, but be wary. However delicious and lemon-drop-colored they may seem, definitely don’t try eat them.

Golden poison frogs are sometimes sold in the pet trade, since they lose their poison after being taken out of the wild. This is probably because frogs get batrachotoxin from their food: soft-winged beetles that make the toxin themselves (Dumbacher et al. 2004). In captivity, frog-keepers give their pets a blander diet of crickets and fruit flies, which don’t contain batrachotoxin.

An example of a soft-winged beetle, in the same family as those eaten by poison frogs. Photo by Udo Schmidt, licensed under CC BY-SA 2.0.

An example of a soft-winged beetle, not the same species, but in the same family as those eaten by poison frogs. Photo by Udo Schmidt, licensed under CC BY-SA 2.0.

Soft-winged beetles are found all over the world, especially in the tropics, but so far only a few other animals are known to eat them and use their batrachotoxins. Three of these are poison frogs, all found in a small rain forest region of Colombia. The others are birds. Yes, there are poisonous birds, and even though this blog is explicitly not about birds or mammals, I’m going to break that rule today.

The hooded pitohui (Pitohui dichrous) -- both males and females are brightly colored. Photo by Katerina Tvardikova, licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 3.0.

The hooded pitohui (Pitohui dichrous) — both males and females are brightly colored. Photo by Katerina Tvardikova, licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 3.0.

The toxic birds are all found in New Guinean rain forests, and most belong to a group of insect-eaters called pitohius (pronounced PI-to-hooies). Pitohui birds are related to the orioles and blackbirds found in more temperate climes. Shown above is the hooded pitohui, first found to be poisonous when a bird researcher handled one and left with a tingling, burning sensation in his hand.

Later study showed that the hooded pitohui, along with two other related species, has feathers laced with batrachotoxins (Dumbacher et al. 1992). More than a decade later, the same scientists demonstrated that toxin-wielding pitohui birds eat soft-winged beetles, and that these same beetles are loaded with batrachotoxin (Dumbacher et al. 2004). Despite being toxic, the birds are not nearly as dangerous as golden poison frogs, and there is little risk to a careful handler.

The variable pitohui (Pitohui kirhocephalus), not as showy as its cousin, but toxic all the same. Photo by Katerina Tvardikova, licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 3.0.

The variable pitohui (Pitohui kirhocephalus), not as showy as its hooded cousin, but toxic all the same. Photo by Katerina Tvardikova, licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 3.0.

Several more birds are now known to use batrachotoxins, and all are found in New Guinea (Weldon 2000). Many of them have similar red-and-black color patterns. By having similar colors, multiple bird species can work together to “educate” predators who might not be aware of the poisonous feathers (Dumbacher and Fleischer 2001). To make matters even more interesting, the toxins in bird feathers apparently serve as a repellent to parasitic lice (Dumbacher 1999).

We may continue to learn more about these amazing birds and their lives, or we may not. Most of these birds are becoming rarer and rarer as New Guinean rain forest is slashed and burnt, tilled and grazed into nothing.

I’ve written several articles about poisons and venoms: click here to learn about brown recluse venom and here to learn about tetrodotoxin, a poison used by many fish as well as newts, snails, and blue-ringed octopuses.

Darren Naish, writer of the superb science blog Tetrapod Zoology, writes often about birds. Click here for one of his articles on a poisonous New Guinean species. Note that the article is not on his most recent blog site, which is updated regularly at the first link to Scientific American.

To learn more about the relationship between lice and toxic pitohui birds, click here to read an excellent article by Bianca Boss-Bishop on the aptly-named blog Parasite of the Day.

Cited:

Dumbacher J.P. 1999. Evolution of toxicity in Pitohuis: I. effects of homobatrachotoxin on chewing lice (order: Phthiraptera). The Auk, 116: 957-963.

Dumbacher J.P., A. Wako, S.R. Derrickson, A. Samuelson, and T.F. Spande. 2004. Melyrid beetles (Choresine): a putative source for the Batrachotoxin alkaloids found in poison-dart frogs and toxic passerine birds. Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences U.S.A. 101(45): 15857-15860.

Dumbacher J. P., B.M. Beehler, T. F. Spande, H. M. Garra¡o, and J.W. Daly. 1992. Homobatrachotoxin in the genus Pitohui: chemical defense in birds? Science 258: 799-801.

Dumbacher J.P. and R.C. Fleischer. 2001. Phylogenetic evidence for colour pattern convergence in toxic pitohuis: Müllerian mimicry in birds? Proceedings of the Royal Society of London B 268(1480): 1971-1976.

Myers C.W., J.W. Daly, and B. Malkin. 1978. A dangerously toxic new frog (Phyllobates) used by Emberá Indians of western Colombia, with a discussion of blowgun fabrication and dart poisoning. Bulletin of the American Museum of Natural History 161(2): 311-365.

Weldon P.J. 2000. Avian chemical defense: toxic birds not of a feather. Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences U.S.A. 97(24): 12948-12949.

Are Tarantulas Dangerous? Most Aren’t, A Few Might Be

Of the 900 or so known tarantula species, almost all are harmless (Isbister et al. 2003, Lucas et al. 1994). A bite by any large spider can be painful even if no venom is injected, since the fangs themselves are essentially big needles. Even if venom is injected, however, most tarantula bites result in little more than local pain and swelling. When there are medical problems, the cause is usually shock or an allergic reaction, rather than the action of the venom itself.

The Chilean rosehair tarantula (Grammostola rosea), a hardy and docile pet. Photo from Insects Unlocked, in public domain.

The Chilean rosehair tarantula (Grammostola rosea), a hardy and docile pet. Photo from Insects Unlocked, in public domain.

That said, not all tarantulas are equally venomous. The most common tarantulas sold in pet shops are all pretty benign: the Chilean rose hair, the Mexican redknee, and the pinktoe tarantulas have both mild venom and docile habits. They can be handled gently with almost no risk of being bitten.

Other, more exotic species kept by seasoned tarantula experts include the cobalt blue, the goliath birdeater, and the golden starburst tarantulas. These are beautiful and impressive captives — the goliath birdeater can attain a 12-inch leg span. The cobalt blue and golden starburst are stunningly colorful animals, the latter approximately matching the color of Donald Trump’s hair. These species are also more nervous and willing to bite, and their bites are generally more painful (e.g., Takaoka et al. 2001).

The golden starburst tarantula (Pterinochilus murinus), guarding its silken retreat. Photo by Stefan Walkowski, licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0.

A golden starburst tarantula (Pterinochilus murinus) guarding its silken retreat. Photo by Stefan Walkowski, licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0.

Avid tarantula enthusiasts don’t get most of their spiders from pet shops. Instead they buy tarantulas from other spider-keepers who breed their pets, or from companies that import spiders and other animals from around the world. With international trade, hundreds of species are available for hobbyists collect. Many of these are poorly known, most have not had their venom studied, and a few haven’t even been formally described by scientists.

Where venomous animals are concerned, gaps in scientific knowledge can have serious consequences. A few years ago a Swiss man was bitten by one of his many pet tarantulas — at first, the only symptoms were mild pain, hot flushes and sweating. He brought himself to the hospital 15 hours later, when he began to experience severe muscle cramps and stabbing chest pain. Doctors gave him medication (midazolam and lorazepam) that reduced the symptoms, but muscle cramps did not disappear completely until three weeks after the bite (Fuchs et al. 2014). The tarantula in this case was a regal ornamental tarantula, a magnificent tree-dwelling spider native to India.

A regal ornamental tarantula (Poecilotheria regalis). Photo by Morkelsker, in public domain.

A regal ornamental tarantula (Poecilotheria regalis), with a leg span up to 6 inches. Photo by Morkelsker, in public domain.

There are at least 16 species of ornamental tarantulas, all from tropical forests in India and Sri Lanka. Most of them can be found in the exotic pet trade, and many have become popular with tarantula keepers looking for something a little more exciting. Exciting is certainly what they get: ornamental tarantulas are stunningly beautiful, as well as extremely fast and agile climbers. They are also quick to bite if cornered. Ornamental tarantula venom, while not deadly, is certainly underestimated.

To see if muscle cramps and chest pain were common symptoms of ornamental tarantula bites, Joan Fuchs and colleagues (2014) looked at 26 case reports, most of which were blog entries by seasoned tarantula keepers and breeders. Of the cases, 58% involved muscle cramps, along with other symptoms such as fever and heavy breathing. A few patients even lost consciousness for short periods. All bites were painful, but those that led to muscle cramps were severely so. This led the researchers to believe that, in cases where muscle cramps did not appear, the spider had simply injected much less venom.

The metallic ornamental tarantula (Poecilotheria metallica). Photo by Søren Rafn, licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0.

The metallic ornamental tarantula (Poecilotheria metallica). Photo by Søren Rafn, licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0.

It’s worth remembering that no tarantula bite has ever been fatal. It is a sorry fact, however, that by far the greatest source of knowledge on tarantula bites comes not from scientists, but from spider-keepers who take great pains (literally) to record their symptoms after every bite. This information is shared with other spider-keepers online at websites like Arachnoboards, so other hobbyists know what to expect from each species.

Such informal reports have been done for many species that have yet to be studied closely by scientists, and some that haven’t even been “discovered” (i.e., been given Latin names and formally described). The scientific axiom that “more work is needed” may be a cliché, but regarding tarantula bites and spider venom in general, it is certainly true.

Cited:

Fuchs J., M. von Dechend, R. Mordasini, A. Ceschi, and W. Nentwig. 2014. A verified spider bite and a review of the literature confirm Indian ornamental tree spiders (Poecilotheria species) as underestimated theraphosids of medical importance. Toxicon 77: 73-77.

Isbister G.K., J.E. Seymour, M.R. Gray, and R.J. Raven. 2003. Bites by spiders of the family Theraphosidae in humans and canines. Toxicon 41(4): 519-524.

Lucas S.M., P.I. Da Silva Júnior, R. Bertani, and J.L. Cardoso. 1994. Mygalomorph spider bites: a report on 91 cases in the state of São Paulo, Brazil. Toxicon 32(10): 1211-1215.

Takaoka M., S. Nakajima, H. Sakae, T. Nakamura, Y. Tohma, S. Shiono, and H. Tabuse. 2001. Tarantulas bite: two case reports of finger bites from Haplopelma lividum. The Japanese Journal of Toxicology 14(3): 247-250.

The Mountain King

by Joseph DeSisto

During my trip to Arizona, I saw tarantulas, scorpions, black widows, giant centipedes, lizards, and way too many insects to name here. What I didn’t see a lot of were snakes — in fact I only saw two, but those two snakes were the most beautiful I had ever seen.

The first was in Sierra Vista where, after a long day of beating bushes for caterpillars, we pulled into a driveway to find one of the most stunning animals on earth: the Arizona mountain kingsnake.

An Arizona mountain kingnake, held by Benedict Gagliardi. Photo by Joseph DeSisto.

An Arizona mountain kingnake, held by Benedict Gagliardi. Photo by Joseph DeSisto.

The Arizona mountain kingsnake (Lampropeltis pyromelana) and its cousin, the California mountain kingsnake (L. zonata), are some of the most sought-after snakes by North American reptile-lovers. Both are incredibly beautiful, but not especially common, and they prefer high-elevation habitats that aren’t always very accessible to naturalists. Mountain kingsnakes are secretive, spending most of their time underground. They seldom bask in the sun like garter snakes or rattlesnakes, instead emerging only to track hunt their lizard and rodent prey, which they kill by constriction.

The Arizona mountain kingsnake, from Sierra Vista. Photo by Joseph DeSisto.

The Arizona mountain kingsnake, from Sierra Vista. Photo by Joseph DeSisto.

The bright red and yellow bands are warning to predators. Snake-eating birds and mammals might easily confuse the kingsnake with the extremely venomous Sonoran coralsnake, which is also found in Arizona but prefers the lower-elevation desert scrub habitats, rather than the upland pine forests favored by the mountain kingsnake.

I am on a lucky streak when it comes to snakes. I don’t see very many, but the ones I do see are special enough to make my friends jealous. During a May trip to the Appalachians, I saw only five snakes, but two of those were corn snakes and two more were eastern worm snakes. Despite both of these being great finds, I left the South feeling a bit slighted, since what I really wanted to see was a venomous snake, a timber rattlesnake or copperhead. I had never seen a venomous snake in the wild before, so when I decided to go to Arizona, known for being rattlesnake country, I was ready.

The other mountain kingsnake, L. zonata from California. Photo by James Maughn, licensed under CC BY-NC 3.0.

The other mountain kingsnake, L. zonata from California. Photo by James Maughn, licensed under CC BY-NC 3.0.

We spent a few days in Sierra Vista collecting caterpillars and setting up lights at night to attract moths and other insect curiosities. Pat Sullivan, a beetle expert who lives in the area, had several pet rattlesnakes and was eager to show me a rock pile he had set up on his property as snake habitat.

The night he took me to the rock pile, just a few yellow scales caught the beam from my flashlight. I could see perhaps an inch of snake that looped out from under a rock, and I wanted to flip the rock to see more. I also, however, didn’t want to put my hands right next to a rattlesnake who might not be as sociable as I was. So I left the snake be, and returned to the light where moths and beetles kept me busy for the rest of the evening.

The last morning before we left Sierra Vista, I returned to the rock pile. After a few minutes of leaning over for a good angle, I realized the snake was in exactly the same position as before, only a few scales visible. In daylight those few scales were truly beautiful — they yellow and tan color revealed this was a black-tailed rattlesnake (Crotalus molossus), one of the prettiest rattlesnakes around. Pat got a long stick and, very carefully, flipped the rock over:

This is what I saw -- half a black-tailed rattlesnake. Photo by Joseph DeSisto.

Half a black-tailed rattlesnake. Photo by Joseph DeSisto.

The snake made no attempt to strike or even rattle. It simply slid beneath the rock pile with the grace of an animal that knows it can hurt you, and knows that you know it can hurt you. In the end I only had a few seconds to see less than half of a rattlesnake, but I’ll take it. I saw my first and, to date, only venomous snake in the wild, and it was one of the most beautiful creatures I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting.